


Those Who Stay

by Poplitealqueen



Series: Little Dáin Ironfoot Fics [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, I regret nothing even as I regret it all, I'm so sorry, Kid!Dáin, Kid!Dís - Freeform, Pre-Ironfoot, Pre-Oakenshield, So is Náin, Thráin is a good dad, and some funny bits too, dwarflings, this got a bit out of my hands...but in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It's hard being left behind. It's hard to be the one who stays.”<br/>― Audrey Niffenegger</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I think it's gonna be a thing now. I really enjoy writing about Kid Dáin, and Kid Dís too, as it turns out.
> 
> Also, Náin. Náin for days.
> 
> Haha, hope you peeps enjoy. *frantically apologizes*  
> -poplitealqueen

Dís crossed her arms at the two boys huddled suspiciously outside of the meeting chamber. "This is a really stupid idea."

Finishing the last tie in the knot with a satisfied grunt, Dáin answered without looking up, "Ach, what does a tattletale like you know?" he asked.

"'Nough to know Thorin's gonna kill you two when he finds out!" snarled Dís, cheeks burning beneath the dark fuzz of her slight beard. "Frerin, you're the oldest here. Knock some sense into him."

Dáin rose his impressive eyebrows at his other cousin, who was biting back laughter as he stood on the tips of his boots to tie the other end of the rope around the putrid smelling bucket.

"You worry too much, namadîth," he said calmly as he huffed a strand of golden hair from his face. "Thorin won't have any idea it was us."

Dís puckered her lips obstinately, the ribbons in her dark braids catching in the sunlight as she shook her head at the utter _pigheadedness_ of her male relatives.

"Who else would it be, you silt-brained idiots?" she muttered.

Frerin hopped to the ground as Dáin dusted himself off and stood up. Frerin loomed over both of them, being the oldest of their group by nearly a decade.

"You'll laugh, Dís, I promise." he said.

Dáin nodded earnestly in agreement. "An' if ya don't, I'll do all your chores till Da' an' I head back home. Deal?"

Dís rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Plus, I'll write out all those cirth exercises that tutor keeps giving ya. Every. Single. One," he added. "Deal?"

Again, Dís snorted, even as she nodded.

"Aye, you've got yourselves a deal," she answered with a stately air. "But you should put more fish heads in, methinks. Thorin'll never get the smell out of his beard then."

 

 ----------

They laid on their bellies behind a small wall, stifling giggles as the door was pushed open, and the bucket teetered before tipping over.

"WHAT IN MAHAL'S BLEEDIN' NAME?!"

Both Dís and Frerin's eyes widened as the fetid concoction soaked into the great red beard of Náin, Lord of the Iron Hills, louder and larger than even their father. The foul mixture dribbled onto the front of his fine tunic, dripping to the stonework floor. They both ducked their heads down quick as they could, covering their mouths to keep their laughter from being heard.

Dáin, on the other hand, took one look at his father and burst into loud guffaws. He rolled on the ground, laughing like a lunatic, clutching at his stomach as his feet kicked the air.

Náin's great head followed the sounds, and his nose crinkled when he spotted one leather boot fly from a shaking foot.

"DÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁIN!"

Beside the roaring dwarf, Thráin fought fiercely to keep a smile from his face, while behind them both stood Thorin, fortunately dry. But the Prince's mouth was pulled into a thin, terrible line.

 

\----------

After a stern talking to for Dís and Frerin, and a solid roaring for Dáin, the three dwarflings huddled around a brazier outside Thráin's rooms. The night had a razor chill to it, but it couldn't hold a candle to the grim effigy that Dís saw across the roar of the flames. Thorin hadn't said a single word since he'd called them over, and it worried Dís.

They talked about petty things at first. Dáin couldn't stop laughing about their earlier exploits, and had begun to include Dís in his plans without even realizing it.

"-- see his face? I don't think I've ever seen Uncle Thráin honestly smile!"

"He does," Frerin blew into his thin woolen gloves to warm them. "Y'know, sometimes."

"Sure, just like goblins throw dinner parties. Ya were utterly right, Dís," he continued jovially, knocking his shoulder against her's. "The fish heads worked _wonders_. We need to remember tha' fer next time."

"Next time?" Dís said. "No way, Dáin."

Frerin heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn’t about to get another lecture over dragging his baby sister into his escapades.

"Uncle Náin would see it comin' a mile away," she added. "My Da' would, too. We need someone who hasn't seen it happen."

Dáin grinned deviously. "Someone like...yer grandad?"

Thorin started at that, though none of them noticed.

"Dáin...that's brilliant." said Dís in awe.

Frerin groaned. What monster had he helped create?

"They'd sing songs about it," Dáin continued, breath misting around his excited face. "We'd be heroes t'every dwarfling from here to the Iron Hills."

"Funeral dirges, more like." replied Dís curtly.

Dáin grinned at her. "Ach, an' here I was thinkin' ya'd finally become fun, cousin. Ya better not get cold feet once King Thrór returns."

Dís beamed at him, rubbing her hands over the fire. Things had become so terribly solemn since Grandfather had decided to visit Khazad-dûm, ancestral home of their clan, and a right terrible place if the stories were true. She might've been worried, like Thorin and their father, if Nar hadn't left with him. The advisor had a good head on his shoulders, and wouldn't let anything happen to the king. He'd promised.

But play hadn't felt right with him gone, not until Dáin had appeared again with his father, bringing Iron Hills-bred mischief in his wake. Even the prospect of pranking the stoic king--which may have once had her shivering with nervousness-- now made her giddy with excitement.

Her answer was cut short by Thorin.

"We've received word of Grandfather," he said simply. "Nar's been back a while now."

The three others stilled, and looked up at him expectantly. Dís was the first to break the silence.

"And?" she asked anxiously. "When's he coming back?"

Thorin met each of their eyes in turn, his mouth falling back into that thin, terrible line.

"He isn't."

 

\----------

_Grandfather is dead._

She still couldn't believe it.

_Grandfather is dead._

Thorin’s words kept repeating in her mind, and her father’s as well. Cold and clear, like crisp spring water.

_Grandfather is dead, and everyone is to go to war. Everyone…. except you._

Six ravens sped from Dunland that night, swift and silent as sunset, carrying fell and terrible words. Dís watched them go from her window, until they were nothing but black specks on the horizon, and silently hoped that they would lose their way. Maybe then no war would happen.

She wasn't yet so young to believe that for more than a moment.

\----------

They had their final meeting as dwarflings in a small pantry room near the kitchens. Dáin had snatched them a few pastries to munch on, old delicacies that would have had them drooling before, but were now abandoned on a dusty shelf above their heads.

"We're to go to war so soon?" asked Dáin softly. Dís had never seen him so quiet and thoughtful, and even his mad wild bristle of hair seemed to have drooped. “I thought there’d be more time.

"Aye," answered Thorin. “But all Seven Houses of the Dwarves have answered the call to arms already. They plan to meet here, and march for Gundabad.”

Frerin beat his fist on the wall, sending one of the baked treats thumping to the ground. "Good!" he snapped. "Let those damned Orc scum taste the wrath of the Dwarves as quick as we can give it to ‘em!"

Dís kept her words to herself.

 

\----------

The other armies were going to reach their home soon. Dís had heard it from her Uncle Náin's own mouth. She stood desperate outside the door to her father’s workshop. This would be the last attempt of many to convince him, but she was hopeful that he’d listen to her this time. She had each point planned in her head, and his possible answers and her arguments danced around her mind like fireflies. Last chance, she promise herself as the door creaked open beneath her hand.

Dís strode into the forge-lit room with every bit of confidence she had. But every thought out argument seemed to crumble on her tongue when she saw her father’s crimson-tinged armour laid out on the table.

"Da'?" she spoke suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Thráin stopped polishing the fine steel to look over at her, blue eyes weary as he removed his leather glove and swiped the sweat from his large forehead. "Dís, you should be in bed."

She pressed her lips together tightly, taking a deep breath through her nose.

"I couldn't sleep," she answered, some of the confidence she'd had just outside the door returning. "I heard about the armies. How they’re to be here soon...Da', I don't want you to go."

Thráin sighed, and pulled his smithing apron over his head. "We've spoken about this before. I have to, my little treasure. This aggression against our clan cannot go unpunished."

Here was her chance. Dís stepped over to his crafting table. "I agree! That's why I should go with you," she insisted. "I can help avenge Grandfather."

His eyes softened, but he did not agree.

"No. I will not allow it."

"But I can fight, too!" she clutched at his tunic, trapping the ash-and-sweat stained material in her fingers. "I'm just as strong as Frerin, an' faster than Thorin!"

Thráin pried her hands away lightly and pulled her onto his knee as he sat on his stool, "We need you here, Dís. Nathithel. We need our line kept safe, an' I trust no one save you, my strong, strong girl."

Dís leaned her head against his grey-and-black beard, felt his heart thump against her temple, and frustrated tears stung at her eyes. "Dáin is goin', an' he's even younger than me."

"Aye, and he's also son to another," Thráin said with an angry look at far wall of his forge. "If I had my druthers, he'd stay back as well...But he isn't my child, an' if Náin sees him fit to fight, I cannot argue."

Thráin felt his daughter tremble, and he gathered her up in his thick arms as she began to cry.

"I don't want to lose you, too. I don't want to lose anybody else. Don't-don't leave me alone, Da', don't make me go to Ered Luin, please," Dís dug her fingers into his beard, trying in vain to keep him in place. "Please."

Thráin simply held her, unable to say a word.

\----------

It was a cold, bright morning that greeted the armies from the the Blue Mountains, Iron Hills, and far-off Orocarni as they arrived at the humble Hills of Dunland. But none would dare call them 'humble' after that.

The very earth itself shook with the might of so many hard Dwarven boots, and the air thrummed with all manner of dialect of Khuzdûl. War cries rang like morning bells through the air, demanding vengeance for the eldest of the Dwarf fathers. It was the greatest mustering of the Dwarves in the Third Age, and would be sung of in songs for years and years to come.

Dís could barely stand it.

She was to leave with a small entourage for Ered Luin come the following day, leave behind her kin for the safety of a distant range. She’d promised herself she’d not even deign to look at her father, so sharp and biting was her ire at being left behind. Yet as he appeared at the fore of his army, bedecked in armour of brutal Dwarvish make, that resolve broke apart like sand in the wind.

Dís ran to him, burying her nose in his thick beard already braided for battle. For all his gruff and bulky  appearance, Thráin gave her as soft an embrace back. He even whispered her dark-name into her hair, and bid her to be a good girl while he was away.

For all her resentment, Dís found herself agreeing.

Frerin was next, gold hair bright as the morning sun as he pulled one of her braids and smiled at her fondly.

“Try not to be _too_ well behaved while I’m gone,” he said with a mischievous wink. “Can’t have everyone thinkin’ they’re in the clear, an’ Ered Luin is fresh territory for fun.”

Dís winked right back, though it looked more like a twitch when she attempted it.

“They won’t know what hit ‘em,” she agreed with forced jolliness. “Just get back quick so I won’t have to think up any more tricks on my own.”

Frerin laughed, and it sounded just as fake, before pulling her into a quick, one-armed hug as they heard his name called.

 ****“Ah, Dís, you’re the cleverest little sister anyone could ask for. You’ll be fine on your own.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and Frerin planted a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Gross,” she grumbled, and swabbed at it with her sleeve.

“Just trying to be encouraging,” admitted Frerin with an unapologetic shrug. “I’ll be back before you have to strain that pretty head of your’s, namadîth. Don't worry.”

“You'd better.” She said, too soft for him to hear. And then Frerin, too, was gone.

Thorin, usually so solemn and dark, came up to her with a wide smile.

Dis couldn't believe her eyes. She’d not seen him smile like that since _he’d_ been the one pulling pranks with Frerin and Dáin. It was an oddly welcome sight, even amongst the hustle and bustle of war preparation.

“Brother, you’re actually smiling.” Dís gasped in shock.

Before she could move, Thorin stuck his hands under her arms and lifted her clear off the ground. Dís squealed with sudden joy as she was spun around, then planted on the ground again. Her world tilted into two for a moment. He laughed along as he pulled her into a tight hug.

“Thorin!” she couldn't help but giggle, and passerby paused to ponder at them. “Thorin, hehe, _Thorin_ , c’mon, leggo a’me!”

“I cannot do that, Dís,” He huffed, and lifted her up again as he stomped his boots loudly about. “I’ll turn ya every which way but loose!”

Dís giggled again, and Thorin laughed along too. They’d not done that in...Mahal, she couldn't properly recall. When he finally saw fit to let her loose, they were both gasping for breath between laughs.

“What was tha’ for, you great big fool?” she demanded giddily.

He smiled down at her. “I might not see you for a good long while, Dísîth,” he said. “I didn't want you to remember me simply as a bearer of bad news.”

“I’d never think that!” answered Dís obstinately. “You...you great big fool!”

Thorin tittered, straightening his jerkin as his name was bellowed from afar as well. His face immediately stilled, and the smile fell at the sound. Dís wondered when it might ever appear again.

As he walked away, she couldn't help but add:

“Y’know, you look better smiling.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, “Aye? Well so do you, Dís. Don’t lose it simply because we went off to fight a few Orcs.”

Then he was gone as well.

Her Uncle Náin ruffled her hair as he passed by, his giant helm carved in the likeness of a boar’s head covering half of his face, save for his great bramble of a beard.

 “Dís, if yer t’remember anythin’ I say, remember this,” he said matter-of-factly. “Ya’d have made those Orc blighters stain their unmentionables with yer fierceness! Though ya may not be a part o’ this battle, yer sure to be a fury in others.” He ruffled her raven tresses again with blunt fingers. “Lass, there’ll be plenty o’ wars to fight, that ya can be sure of. So don’t hold this one against yer father, aye?”

Dís nodded under the large hand.

“Yessir.” she said.

Náin squinted down at her, lips catching on his teeth as he mulled over one last thing on his mind.

“Lassie, listen well, eh?” he said in a gruff whisper, bending down on his knee as plate armour whined in protest. “If I don’t return--”

“But you will!” She said defiantly. Náin hushed her.

“Aye, yes. But if I don’t, an’ Mahal forbid somethin’ happens to my wife, too,” his gaze turned to Dáin at a distant stand, testing axes with swift swings. “Keep an eye on yer cousin, can ya promise me that?”

Dís’s jaw worked. “Why ask me?” she asked. “I’m not even important enough to go with you.”

“Because I cannae be sure who’ll return,” he answered. “But I know who stays. Will ya promise me, lass?” His blue eyes, deep in their sockets, searched her’s. “Promise me you’ll watch out for one another, an’ you’ll argue against his rash nature whenever ya can.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her tongue stuck fast to the roof of her mouth. But Dís did promise, and Náin left with a calm look in his wild, windblown face.

Dáin was the last to leave, giving Dís a broad, unabashed grin as he shouldered his sturdy pack.

"Sorry if my Da' was botherin' ya. He's such a worrywart," he said to her, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he was going off to war. "I'll bring back a goblin head for the next bucket."

The ghost of a smile passed over Dís's young face, but did not become real.

 "Why aren't any of you scared?" she asked sharply. "You could die."

"O' course I'm scared," he answered. " I stayed up most of the night with my Da', an' he even let me drink a few flagons with him. We talked an' cried, an' apologized for a whole bunch of daft stuff. But," he shrugged. "He said I have t'be strong as I can be, so I will. For him an' everyone."

Dís blinked at the honest omission from her cousin. He'd always just seemed the jokester to her, bringing welcome mischief and laughter with each visit. Her wild cousin from the Iron Hills.

She pulled Dáin into a rough hug before he could say another word. "I don't bloody care about a stupid goblin's head," she hissed in his ear. "You, Thorin, Frerin, Da', Uncle Náin, that's what I want brought back, okay?"

Dáin nodded, and thumped his forehead against her’s.

"Aye, I hear ya. Rasup gamat ai-menu, Dís."

"No, not that," she said as she pulled away. " This isn't a farewell. Just a see ya soon, alright?"

"Alright, cousin. We'll all see ya soon." He pulled himself free, then paused, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, an' I' sorry ya can't go. I'd feel safer havin' ya there, too."

Dís just shook her head, "I'm doing my part, " she said, even if the words didn't sound true to her own ears.

 

\----------

He waved to her as he left, they all did.

And with that, the vast army of the Dwarves departed the Hills of Dunland.

She'd see them all soon. She would, she _would._ They'd promised her, after all.

Then again, Nar had promised as well.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Khuzdul Translations**  
>  _namadîth_ = little sister  
>  _Dísîth_ = little Dís  
>  _Rasup gamat ai-menu, Dís_ = Farewell to you, Dís  
>  _Nathithel_ =daughter of all daughters


End file.
